Veterans Day

Ft Sherman, Panama 1977 (Photo by PFC Tinseth)

Camouflage In Canada

Misspelled but treasured


L to R: Lance Cpl Lodge, Sp4 Tinseth (Woodland Pattern), Major Campbell

Canadian Jump Smock

British Para Smock

Night Jump

It was a beautiful evening view of Edmonton from the open doorway of a C 130. And night did not last long. As a visiting American, I was given the honor of going first and standing in the door. I stared open mouthed at Edmonton's bright white lights while red and yellow streaks cut low lines in the dawn sky. The sun was coming up at 3AM. Days were long and nights were short.

Wings were awarded later that afternoon on Buxton Drop Zone followed by a celebration known as a 'Prop Blast.' Everyone remained in uniform. The US camouflage pattern then was called Woodland. It anticipated action in Western Europe and WWW III against the Warsaw Pact. It was also dark and dull. The Canadian Jump Smock was almost bright in comaprison. A wonderfully made jacket with gravitas and substance compared to flimsy US stop-rip cotton.

Neither held a candle to the British Para Smock of L/Cpl Lodge of the 22nd SAS. It combined '70s Rhodesia, '50s Malaysia and a smattering of contemporary Italian Para all in one pattern. I understand a US Army T.M. of world camouflage patterns is the new 'Take Ivy' among NYC designers. Who knows? Maybe Tommy Hilfiger will finally disappear.

C Rations & Latrines

No chunky - only smooth

C ration peanut butter was a smooth and flavorful spread that was often used in spoofing new soldiers. We called them Cherry's in the Airborne. SOP was a Cherry would be assigned to clean latrine toilets. Once finished, his attention would be diverted while a small amount of peanut butter would be placed surreptitiously on the bottom of one of his toilets. The tiny 'British Tan' pile would contrast nicely against the stark white porcelain.

At inspection, the young Cherry stood proudly by his row. An inspector would walk past upon review, stop at a toilet, point to it and ask the Cherry, "What in the hell is that?" The Cherry would come over and seeing the pile shake his head in disbelief. "I don't know, sergeant?"

The sergeant would peer down into the toilet, "It looks like shit." Reaching in, he'd take the peanut butter between thumb and middle finger and bring it to his nose, "It smells like shit." A startled Cherry would stare in horror as the sergeant would insert the peanut butter in his mouth and in lip smacking insouciance proclaim, "It tastes like shit." A shame Tommy Hilfiger missed out on all this.

The Battle For Marjah

Released last month, The Battle for Marjah (available here) makes a strong case, at least for me, that Marine Corps officers are superior to Army officers. Delta Force member and retired CSGM Eric Haney once told me Marine generals were vastly superior to Army generals. Well, they gotta come from somewhere.

In the excellent documentary, Restrepo, Afghan villagers visit an Army outpost in the Kandahar Valley where they seek reimbursement for a cow that was accidentally killed, although not accidentally eaten, by paratroopers of the 173rd Airborne. The company commander, a young captain, argues with the villagers over the price of the cow. Dejected, the villagers leave mumbling and tugging their beards. Later, the same captain angrily accuses Afghan villagers of supporting the Taliban in a profanity laden tirade whose tone is that of a parent scolding a child.

I don't know what what the army thinks "Hearts & Minds" is about, but getting into a pissing contest over a $200 difference for a cow ain't it. Not surprisingly, the army abandoned their outpost, the captain was promoted, and he went home. The Taliban? They're still there. In Battle for Marjah, a young Marine lieutenant sees the problem for what it is when an Afghan tells him, "I don't mind Marines. I don't mind Taliban. I just wanna be left alone."

'Hearts and Minds' not only speaks to the simple strategy of winning them over. I always believed it had everything to do with securing personal freedom as well. In Vietnam, my father's SF team taught local villagers to grow strawberries. Those strawberries were then sold to the Army in a country where strawberries were non-existent. The Vietnamese refused to eat Bulgar wheat provided by US AID. So, the team created a fish farm and fed the wheat to the Carp. Even roof tiles made of clay by local villagers were sold to the Army for officer clubs. The upshot was the villagers wanted the V.C. and N.V.A. out, and why not? Not gonna get anything from them except conscripted.

The Marine Corp captain in Marjah seizes an opportunity and works to get shops open and trade resumed at a local market. He's also the first customer, his men after him, paying outta their own pockets. I'm not sure The Battle for Majar is a politically left or right film. It really doesn't matter. Truths come out that rise above political spin, but with an eerie deja vu. We've been here before...and it didn't turn out well.

'When We Walked Above the Clouds'

When We Walked Above the Clouds by H. Lee Barnes available here.


H. Lee Barnes on far left with 57mm Recoilless Rifle and the Australians


Barnes firing recoilless rifle

Barnes in flip flops


Barnes (in Tiger Stripe fatigues) shakes hands with Charlton Heston. Heston was considering a film role that went to John Wayne.

H. Lee Barnes 2002

In 1963, H. Lee Barnes was an Army Brat living in El Paso and struggling through college. A disinterested and alcoholic mother wasn't helped by a radio announcer step father whose constant job searches would later be subsidized by Barnes himself. There comes a time in some men's lives when they discover they don't belong anywhere. This is usually followed with the recognition that they're pretty much alone. It's a ripe moment for an Army Recruiter.

Barnes enlisted in the Army and volunteered for Special Forces. "You know that song?" Barnes tells me. "One hundred men they'll test today --Only three win the green beret? I was the only one of 50 who made it." I tell Barnes only three in my class of 88 made it and I wasn't one of 'em. I'm looking for a laugh. I don't get one.

Memories of Ft Bragg in 1965 and '66 are seared into my brain despite being eight years old. The green beret itself was something holy to me. I revered the men who wore it. My father, his team members, the next door neighbor and all the men who inhabited Smoke Bomb Hill. This small corner of Bragg was home to Special Forces and was littered with white frame buildings from WWII stuck in the pines. I revered the place when I came back ten years later looking for my own beret.

Assigned to the 7th Special Forces Group at Ft Bragg, Barnes is sent to the small but promising hot spot of the Dominican Republic where Communists are trying to push over a domino. Barnes quotes a lifer's observation in the book, "Wherever Americans go, they turn the women into whores." It's easy duty, guilty even, so Barnes volunteers for Vietnam and winds up at SF Camp A - 107 in Tra Bong some 60 miles south of Da Nang.

Barnes specialty was Demo and secured the Spec 5 ($194 a month) two hazardous stipends of $55 each. One for jump pay and one for blowing things up or the more challenging job of keeping things from blowing up. This all sounds pretty sexy but life at Tra Bong is a thumping bore. As junior man on the team, Barnes gets the shit details...to include burning it.

Jame's Jones took tedium in the army to an art form in A Thin Red Line. A man's thoughts and memories of home in the book became film director Terrance Malick's flashbacks in the film version . A Walk Above the Clouds (author's blog here) takes us on patrols of surrounding mountains with a ruck and a weapon. But there's higher altitude.

Barnes mines his deeply personal reflections. Not only on his good luck, and the guilt that comes with it, but the value of a man's specialty over his value as a human being. Two senior noncoms whose alcoholism reflect a sad army tradition but whose honor and duty spoke to a responsibility the army instills. What Barnes calls, "An honorable action" and "Doing the right thing."

I ask Barnes if he can think of any traits unique to Special Forces members back then. He quickly ticks off a list: "A broken home. Poor. Rootless. Driven to be recognized. Bright and unstable." Tra Bong is one of three places in the world where Cinnamon grows naturally. It is also a place where Lee's captain was beheaded and three team members were killed. Barnes writes of the obsessive card playing with fellow team members, "Cards, like war, reduced to luck no matter a man's skills. No one wanted to be alone with his thoughts to think about that."

Barnes tells me he is done with writing about Vietnam and claims it's the hardest thing he's written. Not only because he was bound to the truth of it but because his team mates names were on it. These events occurred 45 years ago but they should be fresh on everyone's mind. War in a far off place and in a culture not understood. Where the object of "Hearts and Minds" becomes confusion over who the enemy really is. The surprising ending of this book is a reminder...sometimes our biggest enemy can be on our own team.

Tommy Hilfiger's Army

I think these guys were in my unit


Close up of Tommy Commendation Lapel Pin


Close up up of Army Commendation Lapel Pin

Happy New Year

The necklace

The hero


The music

A big, 'L'Shanah Tovah' to all my Heebros out there. I didn't meet many Jewish folk growing up on US Army posts so my first Rosh HaShanah in NYC was something of a surprise. I walked outta my apartment on West 18th Street -- pushed my way past some high school kids on my stoop smoking pot and drinking Heineken at 7AM -- and headed toward the IRT with a big resentment already bubbling. 'How can a fucking high school kid afford Heineken and I can barely pay for a quart of Blatz on a park ranger's salary?'

I get to the subway platform and see three other people. I wonder. It's a weekday. It's rush hour. Where is everybody? I'd get that same feeling driving the desolate stretch from Palatka to St Augustine at 3:00 AM listening to Fleetwood Mac's, Rumors over and over and suddenly wondering, after seeing no cars, if there had been a nuclear exchange and I was the sole survivor left in St Johns County.

I get to the Ranger Boat and see a bunch of people. Relieved, I walk up to an Irish Catholic ranger eating a potato knish with mustard and ask him what's going on and, "where is everyone?" He laughs, a mouth full of white potato with French's yellow streaked across his lips and tells me it's Rosh HaShanah or, what I later learn in Chicago is, "Rush Ah Home Ha."

I was 19 and a paratrooper at Ft Bragg when I bought a Star of David necklace and told anyone who would listen I was Jewish. I did this for two reasons. One, Ft Bragg was overflowing with bible thumping NCOs who found the Lord after all the killing in Vietnam and wanted to take you to church. Two, the Entebbe Raid that Summer had turned all of us at Bragg into huge fans of the Israeli Army. A ballsy operation whose only fatality was the officer in charge, Lt. Col. Yoni Netanyahu. A hero of mine to this day.

A young woman struck up a conversation at a party. She noticed my Star of David and asked if I was Jewish. I told her I was and she asked what I thought about the Torah. "What's that?" I asked. It took years for me to regret that one. Happy 5772.

Mil Speak: #2 Pencil in a #10 Can

At around $5 a bottle, Military Special (Cheap) Rum is available to active & retired service members through the Class VI (Booze) Store. Class VI is a category for luxury items in the Army although there are those who would argue hooch is a necessity.

As a dependent (Kid), I grew up on generic food from the commissary (Grocery Store). Cans came without labels but with simple descriptions. "Coffee, 16 ounces, ground" or "Beans, Green." We were ahead of Costco with food items coming in huge #10 cans (Six Pound Can).

Today, 'BOHICA' (Bend Over Here It Comes Again) is popular with today's infantry. The same frustration was expressed in my day with, 'The Army's screwed me so many times my ass resembles a #2 pencil in a #10 can.' (Poetry)

Takers & Givers

I served in a peace time Army but this scene from the brilliant documentary, Restrepo never fails to make me laugh and cry at the same time. I have a strange love-hate relationship with the Army that some of you know about. Someone asked if I learned 'Honor' from the army. I told them I learned 'Honor' from the people I served with. If the army doesn't give a shit about an NFL football player they're not gonna care much about Joe Shit the Rag Man -- That is, you and me.

The drive from Ft Bragg to Camp McCall in an open jeep, in the winter, was colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and was the longest hour I've ever known. When I got cold I liked to sing. Loudly. Mac the Knife was a favorite although I have no idea why. Certainly, this would have not have served me well in the WW III - Soviet invasion of Europe - we all were being trained for. But, on a Ft Bragg range road, at Oh-dark-thirty, singing didn't seem to matter much.

We sang our hearts out to stay warm -- and it worked. A contest to see who could light a cigarette with one C ration match in the back seat of an open jeep doing 60 mph was another way not to think about the cold -- as well as make a few bucks on the side.

At the time, I wasn't very grateful for these moments. I never thought I would look back on them as fondly as I do today. The "Army" was the mean green machine but we were all in the same shit hole and that brought us together in a way the civilian world -- grab all you can then split -- has never come close to.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Takers and Givers. Takers don't do well as soldiers. They're usually found out for what they are pretty quickly. Givers don't do so well as civilians. They're found out as well.

A wise civilian manager once told me, "As long as you stand on a street corner handing out ten dollar bills -- people are gonna take them from you." In team spirit, I brought two large deals to my company but was shoved aside when commissions and congratulations were paid. Sadly, there was nobody to sing or dance with.

Sgt Rock & His Faux Commandos

Jeff “Rock” Harris refuses to display his medals and honors in his Kinston home



He tries to keep the awards — three Purple Hearts, two Silver Stars, a Bronze Star, 23 Army Commendation Medals, 31 Army Achievement Medals, six Overseas Service ribbons for combat, an award from the emperor of Saudi Arabia, along with several dozen others, he acquired during his time as a U.S. Army Ranger — packed away. However, those around him refuse to let him forget how important his time in the military was.



Harris — an executive security specialist at Down East Protection Systems in Kinston, personal trainer, self-defense instructor and a bodybuilding judge — doesn’t want credit for the bravery and valor he exhibited serving his country.



In fact, he didn’t even want to have any part of a big-budget, Hollywood movie that recounted one of his most eventful and memorable days in the Army.



Hollywood



“Black Hawk Down,” based on the Mark Bowden’s book by the same name, was nominated for four Academy Awards, won two and grossed $172,989,651 worldwide after its release in late 2001. The movie, based on true events from Operation Restore Hope, takes place Oct. 3, 1993, when American troops were sent into Bakara Market in Mogadishu, Somalia. Their mission was to capture warlord Mohamed Farrah Aidid’s officers to stop his regime from starving the nation’s people.



U.S. Army Rangers and Delta Force soldiers were sent on Black Hawk helicopters and Humvees on a mission expected to only take a couple of hours. They ended up fighting what seemed like the entire city into the next day, losing 19 U.S. soldiers in the process.



Harris, a sniper with the Rangers, came close to being one of the casualties of Mogadishu. Harris found out about the movie when Ridley Scott, co-producer and director, and his production company started hounding him for his account of the bloody day. But he refused to contribute.



“It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about it (but) it’s a sore spot for a lot of us,” Harris said. “It’s not just because we were losing people and the whole horror of it — that was the third time I went to combat, so it wasn’t a surprise for me. It was just the way it happened, what went down. … A lot of guys got out (of the Army) after that who otherwise wouldn’t have.”



Though Scott’s company kept asking for his input, Harris answered every time with a resounding “no.” Scott nonetheless promised the movie would ring true to the day’s events, be more like a documentary — and most importantly — would honor the soldiers lost in Somalia. “I didn’t even care if my name was even mentioned,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure the people who did the most there, those who gave up the most, were shown the most honor.”



Despite receiving several movie passes and an invitation to see a special screening at Fort Bragg, Harris didn’t watch the movie until he could view it on his own time. “I finally watched the movie for first time after it came out on DVD, just so I can take a break if I needed to,” Harris said. “I don’t want to say that I was pleased because it’s not a pleasing thing to watch, but the rendition of it was what (Scott) said. He kept his word about it.”



The timeline of the movie strayed from the day’s actual events, and some character-switching, including his own, stood out, too.



Man down

In a bloody scene in the middle of the movie, a young soldier’s leg is blown off, opening his femoral artery. In pain and bleeding heavily, the young man’s strained face relaxes and he dies. “That would have been me,” Harris said. “I got shot, and cut my femoral artery, but we got out the next morning. I lived, but that wouldn’t have been as good of a story line.”



Though Harris still has both legs, he sustained a scar on his leg after a bullet punctured his shin, traveled up his leg, cut his artery and hit his spine, earning him his third Purple Heart, and almost ending his mobility. “(The bullet is) still in my spine — it’s still in my lower back,” Harris said. “I wasn’t supposed to walk again. I was paralyzed for almost 20 months.”



Medical experts still aren’t completely sure how he overcame his paralysis, but Harris, a member of Grace Fellowship Baptist Church, credits it all to God. “The day I left Walter Reed (Army Medical Center), they said I would have maybe an 8 percent chance (to walk again),” Harris said. “I never accepted that. … I’m a very blessed guy.”



Harris earned his two other Purple Hearts after being shot in Panama trying to capture Manuel Noriega and after being shot again in Desert Storm. “It’s different every time (someone shoots at you),” Harris said. “It’s just as scary every time. You don’t ever get used to it.”



Aim, fire

Harris wasn’t always on the receiving end of the bullet, something that makes him uncomfortable to this day. “I have 316 confirmed kills as a sniper, and that’s only in that last three years I was in the Army,” Harris said. “Every one of those horrifies me regularly because they were somebody’s children, somebody’s husband or father.”



He still feels conflicted about what he had to do, but in the end, he knew it was his duty as a sworn soldier.“They’re bad people and they’ve done bad things, but who am I to take that away from them?” he asked. “But it was my job to do. Lives were safer because of that — but it’s never easy.”



Leave no man behind

James Murphy served in the Army as a Ranger with Harris and said he wouldn’t be alive if not for Harris’ heroic actions. Murphy recalled after he and another soldier were hit by a rocket-propelled grenade in Mogadishu, Harris ran to their position and carried both of them a half-mile away “not knowing if we were alive or not.” He drove them to safety in a burning vehicle and returned to continue to fight.



“If you know him, you are privileged,” Murphy said. “If you served with him, you were in the presence of a true American patriot. If he is your friend, you should be honored. He gives hope to humanity that there are still decent, amazing people all around you.”



Just a regular guy

Harris said despite everything he has seen and the blessings he has received, he considers himself a down-to-earth person. “I’m just as normal, laid back a person as there is. I’ve just had extraordinary experiences,” he said. “I’ve got a great wife (Amanda), and I’m alive. I’m healthy, and probably much more healthy than I should be at 46.”



Harris is especially lucky after having several medical scares, including having prostate cancer four times in the past six years and a brain tumor. Harris, who is in remission from cancer, said he doesn’t mind talking about his past illnesses, but he doesn’t publicize it because of the way people treat him after finding out.



“They look at you like you’re already dead. … My overall personality is doing for other people rather than myself,” Harris said. “That’s part of my military (background). That’s the thing that it teaches you. You don’t want to be a hero, you don’t want to get credit all the time. A lot of people know me, and a lot of people know where I come from, but a lot of people don’t know my whole story, because I don’t advertise that.”



Say thanks

Harris said he takes every opportunity to thank those who have ever donned a uniform, from friends and veterans Jerry Core of Kinston, Klebear Northrup and James Anthony to Joseph Seabright, a coworker of Harris’ who is deploying next week. “I don’t pass a soldier without saying ‘thank you,’ ” he said. “I don’t tell them who I am. I just tell him ‘thank you.’ ”



Every military holiday, Harris remembers and recognizes the soldiers who fought by his side, especially the 64 in his units who lost their lives. “I will always, as long as I’m able to, recognize those guys first,” he said. “I don’t have problems talking about the stuff I’ve experienced. I think it’s good therapy for me.”



Harris said thanking a soldier and showing him or her support is a simple gesture that goes a long way. “It’s unbelievably important … just to go say thank you,” he said. “Put yourself in their position. Just a ‘thank you’ is tremendous.”



Though he has been through much in his 46 years, he has kept his faith and wouldn’t take any of his experiences back for the world. “I’m thankful everyday I went through it,” Harris said. “As hard as it was, I would have stayed in for 30 years. That was my niche, what I was supposed to be doing … where I’m at, the direction I’m in today is because of somebody else’s plan.”



By Jane Moon - Kinston Free Press



The unauthorized use of military insignia by fashion designers and retailers pales in comparison to people who fabricate military records. This incredible story ran the Sunday before July 4th in Kinston, NC and was picked up by the Fayetteville Observer. With Fayetteville being home to Ft Bragg, the 82nd Airborne Division, Special Forces and Delta , you can guess what happened.



Sgt. Rock's fraud was outed in a fascinating on line investigation seen here and here. Actually, I think Rock would find life in New York City most suitable for his character -- what little he has.



Yesterday, M. Lane, a man over flowing with character, commented on a ersatz military duffle bag, "...I could never carry something like this unless I had earned it." In an upside down world, the upside down message is, "Fake It 'til You Make It' and except for the real nut cases out there, it comes down to how you see yourself each morning when you shave. I'm just guessing, but I reckon Sgt. 'Rock' is working on a full beard.

Duffle Stories

At Saks 5th Avenue -- I wonder who 'Chad' is?





And whose idea this was?





I got mine for nothing -- Well, almost...



Ft Jackson, Ft Benning, Ft Bragg, Camp McCall, Canal Zone, Griesbach Barracks...





It's not much to look at. It never was. Filled with everything the Army issued, it started on my back at Ft Jackson on the first day of Basic. An insane formation of shaved heads in the front leaning rest with hundred pound duffels on our backs.



Drills yelling, "Get Up! Get Back Down" Getting up, my bag falls off my back and a strap rips my watch off my wrist and sends it flying...never to be seen again. Through the rest of Basic -- I never know what time it is.





The Drills said you couldn't die and go to Hell without a layover in Atlanta. I'd fly in uniform but not for the reason this guy did. WW II vets were always good for a beer and a story in a bar near the Piedmont gates.



I carried it to my dorm room in college and, after graduating, to an apartment on 18th St in Chelsea. The same day a Puerto Rican girl pulled Wonder Bread out of my first bag of NYC groceries and "tsk - tsk'ed" me.



My name and number are barely visible but the stories this duffle conjures up just won't stop. I hope there's room for more.

Humble-Ties

I have a question. I'm a 26 year old working in financial services in New York City. I have a couple Hermes ties and while I love them, they seem too old for me. I also have a number of Vineyard Vines ties but they seem too young. Any ideas? Connor Fused



Dear Con,

You're in a predicament. However, you've provided enough information to work with. A young man (under 35) in an Hermes tie comes off looking, at worse, pretentious -- over reaching at best. Also, older men (over 40) in your office don't like you simply because you're 26. They'll look for anything to disparage and what you wear is an easy target.



I was 21 and driving for a colonel just before I got out of the army. I had known him for about a year, respected him and was flattered he specifically requested me as his driver. Coming out of a G-3 briefing, he climbed into the jeep and said, "Sergeant, I'm so confused I don't know whether to wind my ass or scratch my watch." I'll never forget that or what he told me next.



He told me I was a smart ass. Not so much because of what I wore. Except for his rank and C.I.B., our uniforms and footwear matched perfectly. He told me it was how I walked and talked. He also told me that people would either like me or hate me with no in between. I remember sighing a plaintiff, "Jesus, sir?"



Which reminds me of the time a chaplain in the field was chewing me out for my helmet graffiti which read, "Kill a Commie for Christ." This same colonel came to my rescue and told the chaplain that, "...it's his fucking job to kill Commies and if he wants to kill 'em for Christ, that's his business."



I'm getting off track here so let me wind scratch this up. I said, "Jesus, sir?" and the colonel said not to get him wrong. He loved smart asses but he wasn't everyone. He told me, "You need to be humble. I'm not saying you can't be you -- I'm telling you to be humble 'cause you don't need to wave your flag. It's big enough for everyone to see." I thanked him although I have managed to ignore his advice pretty much the whole of my life.



I don't know if you're a fellow smart ass, Con. But I do have some advice. 'Humble' is not a word you associate with Hermes while 'insipid' is what a designer I know calls Vineyard Vines. If you want something with Hermes gravitas while following my colonel's advice for humility, try Ferragamo. Not the shoes. They're not humble. The ties. As elegant as Hermes but not nearly as in-your-face assertive, the Ferragamo tie walks a fine line of understated style and restraint. Grown up but not middle aged. They're not cheap ($170) but women love giving them as gifts while old farts like me will hate you just a little less.



Update: I have just been advised the colonel retired a major general. I'm guessing I should've taken his advice.

Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!

Ranger Log - Castillo de San Marcos, St Augustine, FL - 4 August 1984

Night 1964 by John Koch

My Fridge - 22 July 2020

It seems extreme heat has been a companion most of my life. Born in a record breaking August, the early wonder years were spent in the Southwest and Southeast. Basic, Infantry and Jump School were poorly timed and placed over a single cruel Summer at Ft Jackson and Ft Benning.

I saw heat index temps north of 107 as a Summer seasonal park ranger in Florida. Thermal inversions were commonplace with days of 100% humidity and no breeze. Adding to the misery was a paper mill north of town that cranked out a smell so ripe you could walk on it.

Still, truth be told, I'd rather deal with Summer than Winter. It's hard to lose an ear or finger because of the heat. Yesterday, I saw a young couple in their late teens French kissing on the sidewalk at the corner of 56th St and 8th Avenue. I was thinking it's too damned hot until I saw they were wearing jeans and black tee shirts -- Then they were just too damned stupid.

I'm old enough to remember sleeping without A/C and I can feel that John Koch painting like a trickle of sweat sliding down the crack of my ass. Rumors of a black out in NYC this weekend give me serious pause as I wonder if I have enough ice and talc. I'm pretty sure I have enough beer. I hope it ain't warm beer.

"I'm Gonna Die…" Part I

Same bike at Ft Bragg - Post Beatles - Sans Peace Symbol

The first bicycle appeared in the garage of our quarters on Ft Sill. Red with white trim,  it had what might be termed today, "a hipster aesthetic" in that it was clunky, void of all frills and extremely utilitarian.  Which is to say, in 1962, it sucked.  What it did offer, on an army post,  was freedom and an extended range.

I was found on the business side of an artillery range by the MPs with a friend who showed the way. We were walking around mostly desert with tumble weeds when we saw a large unexploded round circled by white engineer tape.  And another and another. 

Even at seven,  I was thinking we might be in over our heads and was secretly relieved when the MPs showed up -- After a brief and friendly interrogation I would have the time of my short life riding home in an open jeep with the wind blowing through my pre-Beatles crew cut.  My mother could only say, "Wait until your father gets home" over and over.   

There is a unwritten law for military brats and it's this, "Whatever you do is a direct reflection on your father and his career.  Drugs, black market, shop lifting in the PX, wearing long hair & peace symbols…the list goes on.  This law eases up when living off post but when then neighbors see you being driven up to your home in a MP jeep…there's not much room to hide.  

I was in the tub playing with a battery powered scuba diver when I heard the front door open.  Until I heard the door, I was a blissful million miles away in a seven-year-old attention span.  The scuba diver in the tub.  The monkey banging cymbals in my head.  All of it came to a dead stop when the door opened and I knew…without any doubt, I was going to die.  

Happy - You Don't Know Shit From Shinola - Memorial Day

Always a problem... shit from Shinola (shine-oh-la)

I heard it growing up but,  being an Army Brat,  I was exposed to a lotta confusing military metaphors.  A favorite of the Old Man's was, "He couldn't pour piss out of a shoe." When I joined the Army, a less elegant but still charming version was heard in Basic Training, "He couldn't pour piss out of a boot with a direction arrow on the heel."  As a kid, I wondered why anyone would pour piss out of a shoe much less,  how the piss got in the shoe to begin with. As a recruit, it quickly became obvious that, "piss out of a shoe (or boot)" was all about incompetence --Of which there was a great deal in Basic Training on behalf of myself, my fellow recruits and the US Army.

These logophile nuggets increased through training.  Drill Sergeant Hunt was fond of, "If your brains were gasoline there wouldn't be enough to power a piss ant motorcycle half way 'round a fucking dime." Or, "If your brains were cotton there wouldn't be enough for a piss ant tampax."  Obviously Hunt had something for piss ants.  My favorite was, "You people move like old people fuck."  Not sure why other than I'm very visual and any sexual fantasy in Basic Training was welcome.   

Infantry school introduced me to, "He couldn't piss up a rope."  Again, a perplexing statement when taken out of  Army context but eloquent in describing raging incompetence with so few words. By Jump School, things got strange with the 'Black Hat' from South Texas who called everybody, "Stevie Wonder." If he caught you chewing gum, he took it out of your mouth and put in his adding, "You chewed all the flavor outta this gum, Stevie Wonder. Why would you do that to me?"

Using expressions like these, once assigned to a unit, were frowned upon. They had become tired and over used -- Much like double monks.  Barrack's poets would take the stage and while the target was the same incompetence...be it the Army or a man other (than yourself), personal style ruled -- I'll never forget the bookish and frequently busted 30-something Spec 5 from Los Angeles who called the XVIII Airborne Corps G-3 Sergeant Major, "An unmitigated asshole." At 19, I had no idea what 'unmitigated' meant but there was beauty in the meter of it that I still find attractive today.

I drove for a colonel, later a general, who left a briefing, climbed into my jeep, turned to me and said, "Tinseth, I'm so confused I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass." I dunno...I think the Spec 5 has it over the colonel. 

When I asked my Old Man what Shinola was, he explained it was boot polish and the origin of the phrase went as far back as WWII.  I didn't say anything but all I could think of was, why did black boot polish look like shit?  Was everyone eating black beans and rice?  What it took years for me to figure out (piss ant brains) was that the Army of WWII wore brown boots and Shinola made a brown polish. So... now you know, Stevie Wonder.

'O-Dark-Thirty'

'Morning Prep' by Robert Bates, USMC

Ron Capps, retired Army and Foreign Service officer and currently director of the Veteran's Writing Project, asked if he could use my story, 'The Indian Chief,' for the Spring issue of the VWP's literary journal, "O-Dark-Thirty." Having no idea who Capps or the VWP was, I did some digging and was surprised by what I found -- An organization dedicated to publishing stories by military veterans, their family members as well as free writing seminars, many offering free travel to and from.  The web site is here and the Spring issue of the journal is here.

Don't Lose the Dignity of the Day

Photographer Unknown  US Air Force  ARVN Jump over Tay Ninh Province 

Denim & Supply - Ralph Lauren

SP/4 Salvador Romero 151st Infantry LRRP

Denim & Supply - Ralph Lauren

Photo by Mark Jury:  Fire Support Base Wood

Denim & Supply - Ralph Lauren

US Army Photo: Capt.  Gerald Devlin, 44th ARVN Ranger Bn.

Denim & Supply - Ralph Lauren

Marine Corps Photographer Sgt. David E. Weimer


Cheapen uniforms of those who served and died by the uneducable and characterless who dress up as a soldier one day and a cowboy the next.

Car Sales in the Army

Rightly or wrong, whenever I hear "…the VA," I cringe.  I entered the Army in 1976 for a four year stint as an airborne infantryman but I was an Army Brat and familiar with war stories of servicemen I knew at the Ft Carson Sport Parachute Club.  Gordie, a jump master, had 1st degree burns from napalm and I still remember him telling me how they rebuilt his ears.  And there were already issues with Agent Orange.

My father told me early in my enlistment that, "…you don't waste lives like they were office supplies."  That makes a lot of sense to me and pretty much anyone who has ever heard it.  But….

The Army is a big place.  In big places, people do things they wouldn't normally do for the sake of the institution.  I have no doubt working at any VA hospital is a stressful and an altogether sad job.  But they're not getting shot at.   Neither was I.  Getting out in 1980, I just missed Panama and was happy I did.  I had no desire to take anyone's life.

I did jump from airplanes, flip over jeeps, fall off a tank twice and came very close to shooting my squad leader who zagged when he should have zigged into my firing lane.  Twenty years ago I had a problem with my lower back.  I was x-rayed and the doc asked if I was a gymnast in high school or college due to repeated impact at L4/L5.  "I'm not gay,"I said.  The Doc laughed and I added, "I jumped out of planes for four years.  Could that have something to do with it?"

That doesn't bother me.  Mostly because I'm lucky and have decent health insurance.  I could afford to avoid the VA.  What has bothered me was the "Used Car Salesmanship" the Army and a doctor displayed during my ETS (termination of service) physical.  During a hearing test, "raise your finger when you hear the ping" the administrator looked at me and frowned, jotting down the numbers you see that were later crossed out by the doctor.  Oddly, a civilian.

The doctor tells me the hearing test results are wrong because, most likely,  the machine is screwed up.  I ask what that means.  The doctor, who looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy in a lab coat, creaks back in his chair and tells me my only option is to extend my service a week until the machine is fixed. I tell him I'm getting out the next day.  He tells me it's up to me.  So, numbers are changed and my only exception to my health, "My hearing" is scratched out.

Looking back, I was a kid hot to leave Army. I was not hanging around Bragg for another hearing test.    How's my hearing?  Ask anyone who knows me.  It's not Agent Orange but this Memorial Day Weekend, I often reflect on the history of using men, and today women,  like they were office supplies.  I've talked more than one kid outta joining.  In the end, I usually sum it up, "No matter what the Army says, they don't give a shit about you. If you're okay with that -- You're good to go."

Chino Tasting: Most Original

M47 khaki pant - Hanoi 1954 (Life Magazine)






Same khaki manufactured in 1953

High waisted with 10" leg opening

Plain front button fly - Hat not included - $20 on eBay

One of two ringers thrown into the Chino Tasting were these 1953 issue M47 French khakis. The pant is high waisted and I'm guessing it weighs in at 9 ounces give or take. The cut of the leg is full and the twill is tight with a soft hand.

Whether Bruce or Robert had an inclination to the military origins due to the waist band markings is unknown but Robert was very impressed giving the pant a 98. "...rare high rise, button fly, rear flaps, original, wide leg, wide loops, beautiful."

Bruce was less impressed scoring the pant an 85 but, like Robert, did award it winner of the Most Original category while commenting, " interesting fabric + color, very detailed, high rise and wide leg; casual."

I'm also crazy about this pant and unlike the other ringer (a selvage khaki) this can be easily found, even on eBay, for around $20. They all seem to have been manufactured in 1953 and then forgotten in a warehouse somewhere. Every pair I've seen so far have never been worn. So, twenty bucks for a little Indochina history is not such a bad deal. Not nearly as bad as it was for the French (or us).

The Army Khaki

Ft Bliss, TX 1960

High rise and heavy starch

That's the old man on the left with a crusty 1st Sergeant on the right who looks like he took very little bullshit from anyone. Notice the high rise of the pant on the close up? Today, and I have no idea why, most khakis have a very low rise. Almost like a bikini bottom - not that I know what wearing a bikini bottom is like.

The army issue pant was comfortable and when it was not heavily starched the seat hung down in a not so attractive way. Especially if you were carrying a large wallet. That's why they looked so much better with heavy starch. And when I say heavy - I mean so heavy you'd have to cut the leg opening with a knife. Frequent washing improved how the cotton took to starch.

You can almost see my father's gig line where the shirt placket and fly seam of the pant are lined up with the web belt buckle's left edge . I still do this but not with popover shirts.

There were wash and wear khaki uniforms available for purchase at the P.X. but enlisted men were issued (three?) sets of the cotton khaki uniform until they were phased out in 1985 which was about the time I discovered Duck Head khakis. I was just thinking...I enlisted in the army 34 years ago today.